Hero
by Elessar King
Summary: Sequel to Legend: A hero's face hides more than it shows a price paid things that will never come back. A hero hides the shadows of a man. Not slash. Updated: Chapter 5
1. A Hero's Fate

Title: Hero  
Rating: PG (violence)  
Summary: A hero's face hides more than it shows; a price paid - things that will never come back. A hero hides the shadows of a man.  
Warnings: um..typoes?  
Author's notes: This is the sequel to Legend gasp. It's more Arthur-centric than Legend was, since that one seemed to focus on Lance not forgiving himself. Nope, this time it's a little different. You don't have to have read Legend, but it probably helps haha. Enjoy.

* * *

Chapter 1 – A Hero's Fate

_It's been so long, oh, such a long time  
Since lived with peace and rest  
Now I am here, my destination  
I guess things work for the best  
And I know that my time is coming soon _

_-Thief: Third Day_

* * *

A thin pillar of smoke rose above the tops of the trees, reaching up to the sky. The winter snows were receding, but it was still cold south of Hadrian's Wall. It would be cold for many more weeks. Arthur Castus stretched his leg out sitting next to the campfire; the cold was harsh on his healing wounds. Wincing slightly, he lightly touched his side and poked the dying fire.

"Are you all right?" Lancelot paused, putting Hadrian's saddle on the ground next to him.

"Stiff, that's all," Arthur grumbled, poking the fire harder.

Sighing, the knight pulled a brush out of Hadrian's saddle bay and gently started brushing the large bay's back. "It's too cold, perhaps we shouldn't have-…"

"Lancelot," Arthur cut him off sharply, "I'm fine." He despised being fussed over…both of them did. Only this time it happened to be Arthur who had been wounded instead of Lancelot, the irony of the situation.

"You push yourself too hard," Lancelot started, "It hasn't been long since…"

"I know," Arthur sighed, looking up at the clear sky painting in the pastel colours of sunset. "It's been a month and a half, this is a quiet patrol."

"You can't be sure of that," Lancelot patted both horses and crouched next to his captain.

Arthur rolled his eyes, a half amused-half annoyed grin crossing his face. "So looking after me gives you the authority to question my orders?"

Lancelot looked hurt and stared into the fire, "And being a Roman in command of lowly Sarmatian knights makes you superior and invincible."

The silence was deafening. Nerves were frayed, pride bruised, emotions strained. "I didn't mean it like that, Lancelot," Arthur said softly. A chilled breeze brushed by them as if the elements were reflecting the words spoken. The Roman shivered, but the Sarmatian didn't.

"You're cold, sir," Lancelot commented flatly.

Arthur sighed. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that," he repeated, slightly louder.

"And I'm only looking after you, Arthur."

"I said I was fine."

"Why do you treat me like a child, like I can't do anything?" Lancelot questioned, frustrated. His dark eyes looked deep into the paler ones of his friend. "Why do you do this? You watch over me, but when it's my turn, you shrug it off as if I can't step into your territory as a friend, Arthur, a friend!"

The Roman shivered again. "Because it's my duty to protect you," he replied softly, but the weight of the words hung heavily, "Because to me, you are a child. Not that you can't do anything…you can. But you are a child because of that 16 year old boy who pledged his service and his friendship. You will always be that boy to me, not some emotionless warrior."

Lancelot clenched his jaw, "A boy. I am a boy to you."

"You don't understand…" Arthur started.

"No, apparently not," the knight stood up and simply walked past the horses into the dark woods until he was out of sight.

"Lancelot!" Arthur shouted after him. He would be back, there wasn't a question of that, but it was the manner of his departure. Arthur sighed again, rubbing his face. It had been a particularly long day, riding most of the time, and as the day went on, the more and more Arthur's side ached. He would be the first to admit it made him grumpy. Now he had dug himself deeper into a hole and hurt Lancelot. No matter what he said, it made things worse. Darkness surrounded the camp, the fire cast it away, but a shadow remained over Arthur's face.

* * *

The next day began no differently, it would be another long ride. Lancelot had only uttered a few words that morning. Any attempt at apology wasn't heeded by the knight, his mind was set again. He could be like this at times, Arthur knew. It didn't make things any easier.

It wasn't until they were ready to move out that Lancelot dropped his mask of frustration and hurt. Arthur had lifted Hadrian's saddle onto his back, and as soon as it was on the horse, the Roman clutched at sudden pain in his side.

"Arthur?" Lancelot was there automatically, "Are you all right?"

"It's..nothing," Arthur winced.

"It's not nothing..." he trailed off, "Let me see." With the events and words of last night still in his mind, Arthur unwillingly lifted the side of his tunic. Lancelot gently unraveled the bandage. The healing wound, if it could be called that, was an angry red. It had never looked completely right, there had been a jagged edge, but now it looked even worse. The knight lightly touched it; Arthur pulled away with a hiss of pain. His next move was to touch the captain's forehead. "It's infected, you have a fever. We should head back."

Arthur jerked away from the hand on his forehead. "We only have another day's ride until we turn back anyway," he protested, letting his tunic down again. "And your hands are cold."

"You wouldn't even question if I were in your place, Arthur."

Slowly, he nodded. Truth be told, he felt awful, and had so since they left. The wound on his side was in a bad place anyway, it had been hard for the healer to keep clean. Not to mention whenever Arthur moved it pulled at the skin, that couldn't be helped. It was an invitation for infection.

* * *

"_He's a traitor, sir, he not only gave the Woads our positions, but he murdered two of my men! By law he should be executed."_

"_Not without a trial."_

"_I am the trial. My eyes are the trial, I SAW him!"_

"_And how do you know he wasn't trying to protect his family? He could have been scared? Did your men attack anyone here in the village?"_

"_No, sir, never."_

"_This man has a family, we owe it to them to make this fair. Justice will be served either way."_

"_Justice will be served if you execute him now, sir, I wouldn't lie about a matter such as this."_

"_My orders stand. If you disobey them, there will be two trials instead of one, am I understood?"_

"_Yes sir…"_

"_Good. Then you are to take him back to the fort. We will meet you there the day after tomorrow."_

"_Yes sir."_

"_Remember my orders, do not take matters into your own hands."_

_He sighed, "Understood, sir."_

* * *

The sky was just as clear as the day before and the sun shined down upon them, but did nothing to warm the earth. Every breath created a small cloud in the freezing air. Lancelot glanced up through the trees as they rode. "The sun is out, it should be warm, not cold," he grumbled. 

Arthur smiled slightly, "But of course it doesn't happen that way, it would be too easy for us."

"Of course," Lancelot replied in the same sarcastic tone. The path they walked was a narrow one through the forested hills. To loose ones' footing could be disastrous. Hadrian and Lancelot's horse, Conquest, were used to it however. Neither of them were spooked easily. But of course, everyone has their bad days.

The dark bay, Hadrian, stumbled as they trotted along. Had Arthur been better than he was, it would have been nothing, but as it happens, he fell forward against the horse's neck, twisting his side. Hadrian registered the weight shifting forward and tried to compensate as Arthur attempted to regain his balance. However, with the morning dew in such the cold weather brought frost and ice. The horse's rear hoof slipped and he did all he could to stay on his feet. Unfortunately, Arthur couldn't react in time and fell off, hitting the ground hard.

Lancelot practically jumped off of Conquest at first hearing the startled hooves behind him. "Arthur!" he abandoned the two horses to look after each other and knelt beside his fallen captain.

Arthur's face had turned a sickly shade of pale; his grey eyes were squeezed shut. It was terribly fortunate that he didn't roll down the hill, which was populated with many trees, nearly impossible to miss. But by the same token, he had landed on his wounded side. "That.." he hissed rolling onto his back, "Was not good."

As Lancelot lifted his dark green tunic, blood was just beginning to stain the white bandaged underneath. The knight cringed. "No, it wasn't good," he replied. "I don't think we can ride to the fort today anyway, this will need to be taken care of."

"There's a village to the east," Arthur whispered painfully, "I don't think it's far."

"I hope not…" Lancelot said, positioning himself to help his friend up, "This is going to hurt, I apologize in advance."

In Arthur's mind, it not only hurt, it was agony. The fire that burned and throbbed in his side flared, even going so far as to reach his leg which hadn't given him much trouble until now. His vision clouded and he nearly passed out. The next thing Arthur was aware of was being atop Conquest with Lancelot's arm across his chest. His lip was bleeding, he must have bit it when he was moved.


	2. A Hero's Past

Wow, this is probably the first time I've ever updated a story the next day LOL. This one just really took off on me. Anyway, thank you my wonderful reviewers, I'm glad you're enjoying reading it as much as I am writing it. I forgot to mention on the first chapter that italics are flashbacks or thoughts. If it's in a big ol' clump, it's probably a flashback…in fact, yes, yes it is. I haven't done any thoughts yet, LOL, but yeah. Italics are flashbacks. So that's what that was in the first chapter, it wasn't just something random. And yes, it does tie in later. I also wanted to say, don't remember if I said this before, but this story is a little darker than Legend. Mostly because of my English teacher giving his flawed hero speech and I'm rather intrigued by the idea of it all. Anyway, I'll shut up and let you read. Enjoy and please review, reviews really do make my day!

Chapter 2 – A Hero's Past

_This doubt is screaming in my face  
In this familiar place sheltered and concealed  
And if this night won't let me rest  
Don't let me second guess  
What I know to be real_

_-Unknown: Lifehouse_

* * *

_It had been a struggle to get the prisoner to comply. He was just a simple farmer. When the Woads came, they threatened his family – his six year old son. He had no choice but to tell them what they wanted. But when the soldiers came, he didn't try to run. Maybe they would understand; they had to. He was wrong. It was in defense that he killed them, he hadn't meant for things to happen this way at all. _

_The farmer had heard the argument earlier. It gave him no comfort that the soldier taking him back to their fort was the same man who had argued to kill him now. He wasn't even sure that the soldier could be called a man, he was still very young, just a boy. An impulsive, headstrong boy. The farmer was determined to fight for his life as long as he could, he would not stand accused of something he had no choice in._

_The soldier approached leading two horses. "Get up, we don't have time to waste," he ordered, holding one of the horses in front of the farmer._

"_I can't mount well with my hands tied," he replied, holding up his hands bound at the wrist._

_The soldier sighed and motioned for him to stand facing the horse. He walked around behind to push the man up but was caught off guard when the man used the horse as support for a two-foot kick to the soldier's chest. Quickly taking the moment, knowing he wouldn't have another chance, he grabbed a dagger off of the soldier's horse. The soldier got back up to his feet, suddenly realizing that his sword was also with his horse – he was unarmed. _

_Seeing his chance, the farmer tried to run, but the soldier caught him before he got far. Both men fell to the ground, struggling for the dagger. The farmer found the wooden handle first and gouged the weapon under the left shoulder armour of the boy, cutting down his bicep._

* * *

At first Arthur imagined he could have ridden by himself to the village, but after a time, he doubted if that was true. He was becoming increasingly tired and cold; with every step in Conquest's gait, his wounds throbbed.

The bleeding had slowed, but it hadn't stopped. Blood had soaked through Arthur's tunic, creating a darker patch on his side. Naturally it worried Lancelot. Even though he knew the Roman wasn't going to bleed to death in his arms, it wasn't a good sign necessarily. He felt Arthur's head rest on his neck again. Gently, he squeezed his shoulder.

"Hey, you can't go to sleep, you're the one who knows where this village is," Lancelot whispered lightly to him.

"Oh yes…" Arthur winced, "Duty first."

"Arthur?"

"Hmm…?"

"I'm not joking, don't go to sleep, not yet," Lancelot said, not whispering anymore, with a hint of urgency in his voice.

"I'm not asleep," Arthur responded, "Just..resting my head."

"Just make sure you don't," Lancelot sighed.

But he was tired, and in pain – though it wasn't as bad as it was – and cold. Arthur tried to block it out. He concentrated on the sky, and the sound of the horses' hooves. Conquest was light on his feet, very agile, and if one was listening, it was very obvious. The rhythm was steady, but not stocky. Hadrian on the other hand, the sound of his hooves was…irregular. Arthur's brow creased. "Hadrian's limping," he said softly.

Lancelot glanced behind them at the dark bay trailing along. "He's favouring his front leg, maybe he hurt it when he stumbled."

"Maybe I shouldn't have brought him along, his knee could be bothering him again." Arthur felt Lancelot's shoulders shook as he chuckled. "What's so funny?" the Roman asked.

"You," the knight replied with a slight grin, "You being worried about the horse."

Arthur opened his mouth to say something, but before he could speak, the woods suddenly vanished and they came upon the village below them, settled in the small valley created by the surrounding hills. Small towers of smoke trickled out of the houses and a few people walked around the houses, none of them aware of the two warriors looking down on them. The Roman nodded, "I told you we were going the right way."

"And I said I believed you," Lancelot said nudging Conquest forward down the hill.

"So the whole 'couldn't find a tree in a forest' was just a joke right?" Arthur smirked.

Lancelot fake glared down at him, his head resting on the knight's shoulder still. "Have I ever mentioned how much I hate you?"

"You don't hate me Lancelot," Arthur laughed quietly, sitting up, "If you did, then you would still be wandering around in that forest."

"Very funny."

"I thought so."

Conquest increased his pace slightly as they ambled down the hill. Every hard step from the usually light-footed horse sent a jolt of pain up Arthur's side. By the time they reached flat land again, it was like a pulsing fire spreading across Arthur's chest, starting on his right side.

The villagers saw them coming now, a few of them walking towards the two strange men, but most of the others just standing and watching. They were a cautious people, strangers were not always friendly. But because the two men were riding double made them less apprehensive of them. Perhaps they wouldn't have any ill-intent at all.

One of the men approached them. He wasn't terribly tall, nor largely built. Obviously, the man was not a warrior. His hair was dark and cut short, as was his beard. There was a very kindly look about him.

"Do you have a healer?" Lancelot asked after a moment, "My friend is injured."

The man glanced back at the rest of the village and then nodded, "I am. My name is Antonius Marinus, I am the village healer."

* * *

Antonius' house wasn't terribly large, in fact it may have been the same size as their quarters back at the fort, except with two rooms. The only difference was that this housed three people. Antonius, his wife Victoria and her son Marcus. There was something vaguely familiar about the boy Marcus, Arthur thought. It was his eyes, the dark eyes that were filled with a fire of youth that gazed at the strangers the kind healer had taken into his house.

"Sit here, and take your tunic off," Antonius instructed, gathering what he needed from around the house and taking it into the room and setting it on the table next to the bed.

Arthur complied, but it took the healer's help to finish the job. There was no sign of disgust in the man's face as he unwrapped the bloodied bandages. Skilled hands poked and prodded at the wound; Arthur closed his eyes. Lancelot stood in the corner of the back room, watching, but even he found that he couldn't watch.

"Perhaps you ought to go in the other room if this bothers you, knight," Antonius commented without looking up from his work.

"No, it-.."

Antonius smiled, and glanced up at him, "My wife will make you something to eat and drink if you want it."

The knight nodded, though truly he wasn't hungry, but he hesitated. Arthur opened his eyes as the healer's poking stopped for the moment. "I'll be fine," he spoke softly.

"I know," Lancelot half smiled squeezing the Roman's hand, "I'll come back when he's done."

* * *

Lancelot knew what Antonius had to do and it wouldn't be something pleasant to watch. The man seemed to be a good healer, at least by his first reaction. But Lancelot wished they could have gotten back to the fort instead of impeding on these people's hospitality.

Victoria had been just as kind as her husband. She asked their names and brought out extra blankets for them as well as made more food for their unexpected guests.

There was something else however, something in the back of his mind that didn't sit entirely right. Something to do with the son, Marcus. He wasn't quite a man yet, perhaps 16 or 17 winters. Lancelot couldn't help but notice there was something in his eye when they first came in. Marcus wasn't Antonius' son, or if he was, he certainly didn't look like his father. No, he couldn't be the healer's son, Marcus was much to tall.

Antonius entering the main room again brought Lancelot out of his thoughts. Time had passed, the sun was setting. How long had Antonius been in there? The healer smiled at him, "You can go back in now if you wish."

"Thank you, Antonius," Lancelot stood up, "For your hospitality."

"No need to thank me, it is my job to mend," Antonius replied gently and then turned slightly more serious, "He has a fever, it will have to be brought down for the wound to heal. It may be a few days."

Lancelot nodded and slowly entered the room. Arthur's eyes were closed, the blankets pulled up below his shoulders, clean white cloth covering his chest to hold the dressings in place. Sitting down on the bed next to his captain, Lancelot shook his head with a slight smile. "This is a familiar sight isn't it," he whispered.

"I don't intend on making it a habit I'll have you know," Arthur breathed, smiling weakly.

"Good," Lancelot returned, reaching up and running the back of his fingers across Arthur's shoulder. He continued the loving gesture of friendship until he was sure Arthur had gone back to sleep. After having a wound reopened by a healer, he would need the rest. The knight sighed, tracing his fingers down a scar that trailed down Arthur's left upper arm. He knew the story behind each of his own scars and Arthur's as well, except this one.

Lancelot didn't notice Marcus watching for a brief moment from the doorway. The boy left again before his presence was discovered.


	3. A Hero's Shadow

Hello again, looky! I posted for the third day in a row GASP. Ok, LOL, I love getting the guesses on Marcus, that is so cool. I love hearing what you guys think you know? If I hadn't have had this all planned out, I might have used some of those ideas. Now, the moment you've been waiting for, this chapter will tie it all together. Oh and lurker823 has won Spot The Typo for chapter 1. It's a new game I've started, if you spot a typo, I'll mention you in the next post, lol. Ok, lame, I know. I don't know when I'll be able to write the next chapter, I have a research paper looming in the distance tomorrow, so it depends how thatgoes and such. But we'll see how things go.Well, I'll shut up now. I'm anxious to hear what you guys think about this chapter, please do review! Enjoy.

Chapter 3 – A Hero's Shadow

_We are saints and we are sinners__  
__We are heroes we are thieves__  
__We are all of us beginners on the road to Galilee_

_-Mary's Eyes: Gaelic Storm_

* * *

Marcus fingered his dagger in the dark, brushing the carved handle with his hand. His dark eyes never left the door of the other room where the Roman was, his knight asleep in the chair next to him as if standing guard. It was silent in the house, only the soft sounds of the rhythmic breathing of sleep broke it.

He clutched the handle of the dagger until his knuckles turned white. But no, now was not the time. It took a great deal of control to release the dagger again. Marcus knew…but what he knew also had to be known to the other before any action was taken. He would remember, even if it took Marcus telling him before he killed him to do so.

* * *

With the help of Antonius' skill and knowledge of herbs, he broke Arthur's fever early. The wound wouldn't take long to heal now. Lancelot was relieved. To tell the truth, he couldn't wait to leave. No doubt the others would be wondering why they hadn't met up with them again, granted they already hadn't gone looking for them. Lancelot smirked, it wouldn't be the first time. But there was still the issue of this boy. Neither Lancelot nor Arthur felt terribly comfortable around him. The knight wasn't sure why. But he could see it in Arthur's eyes more so than his own feeling.

"Hey, hold still Hadrian," Lancelot looked up at the horse who was objecting to having his knee examined again. Hadrian snorted, nudging Lancelot's shoulder. "I'm almost done, be patient."

Hadrian suddenly stiffened; his head jolted up, ears forward. So did Conquest next to him. There were voices, not far from them. A raised male voice; it sounded like Marcus.

Lancelot stood up quietly, his hand on Hadrian's neck to settle the horse. There was no sound from his footsteps as he approached the source of the noise. Lancelot crouched behind a bush and listened.

Victoria was getting water from the stream, Marcus was talking at her, his voice angry. "Mother you know who he is!"

Victoria gave no answer.

"I have never forgotten that face, and neither have you. He still carries the scar. How can you let Antonius do this!"

The woman stood up to her full height, looking her son in the eye. "Your father is dead, Marcus. And you are not yet a man. Until then you will do as Antonius says since he was the only one in this village willing to put up with you," she said softly, but harshly. It didn't seem to phase the young man.

"I swore I would do this mother!"

"No." Victoria stated firmly, putting up her hand, "There will be no more death."

"You can't stop me," Marcus narrowed his eyes.

"Then _you_ will live with this guilt, Marcus…"

Lancelot had heard enough. He silently got up and made his way back to the house, unseen.

* * *

Arthur was asleep, his left arm across his forehead, trying to block out the light threatening to invade his peace. But it wasn't the light that entered his dreams. His hand twitched; a bead of sweat dripped down the side of his face. Memories that had been long buried in the shadows of the past began to surface again.

Suddenly he awake, not jolting awake, gasping for breath, as a nightmare from battle normally did; but in calm realization – at least on the outside appearance. Arthur reached over and rubbed the scar on his left shoulder. He remembered now…

_The soldier cried out, clutching at the gash on his arm, blood staining his hand and the handle of the dagger. He pulled it out with some effort. The farmer pushed the boy's hands with the dagger towards his throat. _

_Images flashed in the soldier's mind, of the farmer killing his men. Boys really, not much older than he. His grey eyes flared with rage. Another cry left his lips and he shoved against the farmer's attempt to disarm him. The dagger lodged itself in the farmer's throat. His life's blood spilled over the shoulder's hands, mixing with that which was already there. _

_The soldier's rage consumed him. Traitor. Murderer. He wasn't even aware of the desperate, bloodied hand of the farmer reaching at his face, smearing the crimson liquid across his nose and cheek. Rage kept pushing the dagger farther, even after the man had stopped struggling._

_Another shout brought him back to the present, "Arthur!"_

_Arthur Castus stopped. He looked down at the limp body, blood soaking in the dirt around him. Releasing his now shaking hands from the dagger, Arthur slowly backed up. His breathing came in short gasps as he stared into the open eyes of the man he had just killed. It wasn't his first kill, nor would it be his last. But this was different, it was much different._

_Running footsteps approached, slowing down as they reached them. Arthur was still shaking; his stomach churned uneasily. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't tear his eyes away. Two men helped him up, asking if he was all right. All he could do was nod vaguely as they spoke, but their voices didn't reach his ears._

"_I've never seen a man so bold to attack an officer like that."_

"_He's lucky he lasted as long as he did."_

"_After what that traitor did, he deserved it."_

_As another soldier started to drag the body off, Arthur blinked and saw something move out of the corner of his eye. He turned to see what it was. A six-year-old boy stood, half hiding behind a tree, staring straight at him. A pair of dark eyes that Arthur would never forget, not after 11 years. Marcus Livius._


	4. A Hero's Darkness

Hi again. Sorry this took a little longer than expected…and I STILL haven't gotten my research paper now. I mean, after all, my motto is "Procrastinate now!" so, yeah. But after that and finals week next week, pfft, I'll have the next two chapters up in no time, this story has been coming out very quickly. As for those of you who guessed it about Marcus, heehee, a great big high five. Everyone else…seriously, if I hadn't had this idea already, some of those I would have used LOL. Anyway, here's the next part. From now on, the next chapter included, it's nice and dark. At least for my writing it's dark. Sorry this is kind of short, the next chapter will be longer. Enjoy.

Chapter 4 – A Hero's Darkness

_I watch as the daylight crawls  
Past the shadows hanging on the walls  
It's been a long time since I felt the stain  
Of yesterday getting in my way_

_- Sky Is Falling: Lifehouse_

* * *

Lancelot reached the house before Marcus returned, but he did not have time to say what he had heard when the boy entered. No one spoke, a dark tension filled the room that seemed as though it made the sun retreat early. Arthur was standing in the doorway to the other room; Marcus dominated his territory – the middle of the main room, with his arms crossed. Lancelot watched for lack of words. He could have sworn he felt heat emanating from Marcus' hatred-filled eyes.

"Eleven years I have waited to face you again, Artorius Castus," the young man's voice hung thick in the air. He glanced at Lancelot for a moment, his dark eyes boring into the knight who still didn't know what passed between them previously. Marcus snorted, amused slightly at the blank expression hidden within Lancelot's face. "You never told him, did you," he asked in a taunting tone, "He doesn't know."

"He never needed to know," Arthur replied coldly.

Marcus continued, his gaze shifting again to the tall Roman, "He doesn't know the truth about you. Arthur Castus, the murderer…"

Arthur's grey eyes blazed, "Your father attacked me, and my men."

"And you finished it, didn't you. Well now I will finish it entirely."

Out of the corner of his eye, Arthur saw Antonius jump to his feet, about to intervene. The soldier held up his hand, "There will be no more blood shed. I did not want that to happen, I'm sorry it did."

"The only blood shed will be yours," Marcus glared.

"Marcus!" Antonius' voice split the tension like a knife.

The younger man shot a glance in his direction, "You're not my father, you have no authority over me."

Lancelot stood unable to speak, watching the exchange. A shadow had fallen about them. The knight had seen every kind of man be taken hold by the rage of battle, and Arthur was no exception. He had a feeling the Roman's past contained full version of the shadows of the battle monster. Everyone's past had something similar, some worse than others, some not as bad. Now, Lancelot felt he was in the presence of another side of Arthur – a darker side.

Taking a daring step forward, the light which had shown on Arthur from the window became out of range and darkness hung about him. "I will not fight you, Marcus," he said in a low voice.

"Then you will die," Marcus' eyes narrowed.

"There has not been a day gone by when I have not wished it never happened, Marcus," Arthur started, the line of fire drawn between their eyes turning to ice, "I was defending myself. You have to face the truth, your father gave away information to the Woads that cost more lives than his own."

"And you have to face the truth that you murdered him!" Marcus snarled.

It was very sudden that the outside world made its presence known again. The sound of horses' hooves and men shouting indistinctly thundered outside. All eyes turned to the doorway as if waiting for it to burst open any second. Arthur brushed past Marcus, Lancelot on his heels. Together they knew exactly what to expect when they went outside.

"Arthur! Lancelot!" Galahad called out

Dagonet slid down off of his large dark horse in front of them, "Coincidence meeting you here."

"Yeah," Bors added, "And we thought that we were just going to have to warn the village about the Woads."

"Woads?" Lancelot questioned.

Dag nodded his head towards the woods, "Coming this way, we don't have enough time to get up a proper defense."

"Then round up as many men as can bare arms for now," Arthur ordered, looking around to the village, "We have to try and hold them off."

The two other knights muttered agreements and turned back to their comrades, relaying the orders of their captain. But Lancelot stood by the Roman's side and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Arthur, what about you? You're in no condition to fight," he said softly.

"We're short men to hold off the Woads, I have to," Arthur turned to speak only into Lancelot's ear, it was not a conversation meant for the others to hear.

The knight's dark eyes looked at him with worry, but he nodded. Lancelot paused a moment, "And what of..Marcus?"

Arthur stiffened, "What of him?"

"He-.." Lancelot started, but was unsure how to continue.

"He will fight me if he has the chance," a shadow passed across the Roman's grey eyes. "So be it."


	5. A Hero's Heart

I live! It lives too! Ok, so I finished my research paper…and promptly good writer's block. The good news is…and I probably shouldn't mention it because it might go away…but I may have an idea for a fourth story, as I do have another planned after this. Anyway, writer's block is gone and finals are almost over which means, another chapter! So, thank you all so much for your reviews, I'm certainly glad you're enjoying this story. There will probably be one more chapter after this and then I'll start on the next story unless some plot bunnies decide to bite for one-shots. This chapter is rated PG for violence, but it's not too bad, I could be worse, LOL. But there is a light at the end of the tunnel..-er..chapter…literally. So, enjoy.

Chapter 5 – A Hero's Heart

Arthur winced as the bandage was pulled tight over his side. "Sorry," Lancelot whispered beside him, quickly knotting the cloth to keep it in place.

"Since when have you started apologizing?" the Roman smirked slightly, trying to lighten the hovering cloud of discontent that had covered the village.

Lancelot snorted, "Since you started admitting pain." The knight's fingers moved quickly over the buckles and leather ties of Arthur's armour. He did not agree with the captain's decision to stand with his men in battle, he was still weak, whether he admitted it or not. Lancelot could tell. But he was also in no place to question, since they were desperate for men. "There," Lancelot announced. He paused for a brief moment, "Arthur-…what will you do if-.."

"What I have to," his friend replied coldly.

Before Lancelot could speak again, the first few raindrops struck about them, hitting their armour with a plunking sound. "Wonderful," he muttered glancing up at the angry sky.

Standing up on the hill overlooking the village was Galahad, his loose curls blowing in the slight breeze, not yet weighted down by the rain. He watched the quiet woods. No birds sang, no creature rustled underbrush. All of his being told Galahad it was wrong and had he not known the Woads were coming, it would have unnerved him to the bitter end. But as it was, in the silence that he was alerted to the enemies presence.

Galahad's young legs took him quickly down the slope into the village. No voices were raised, but everyone knew that the Woads were close. They could feel them.

The forest held its breath and waited. The clouds grew darker, the rain increased in strength. With a battle cry, the Woads attacked. Blue forms merged out of the trees, dissolving from every edge, every corner of the forest. They came like a flood; waves crashing against the barrier of the knights.

In a second, everything moved. Swords became a blur and arrows rained with the drops of water from the sky. Tristan's skilled eye picked out targets and one by one the Woads fell to his deadly bow. Taunting and shouting, Bors brandished his knuckle blades for any man with courage enough to challenge him. Next to him was Dagonet, gripping the massive sword that matched him perfectly. The giant's eyes crossed the field, watching Gawain and Galahad leaving a trail of bodies behind them.

At the edge of the clearing which contained the village, Arthur and Lancelot were holding their own against the Woads. The younger knight's twin swords did not sing as loud, his dark eyes were occupied watching out for his captain.

* * *

With the familiar weight of Excalibur in his hands, Arthur no longer felt the pain of his wounds nor the fatigue of his body. His mind was solely focused on this task and no other. Any Woad that approached him was cut down by a mighty stroke, until they ceased coming. But Marcus didn't. He circled around, and Arthur and Lancelot only saw him out of the corner of their eyes before he struck.

A cry left his lips and suddenly Marcus sprung forth, slamming into the Roman, and sending them both tumbling down the sloped bank into the creek. Lancelot ran to the top of the slope just as they were getting up, Marcus circling again like a wolf waiting to feed. The knight tried to run down there to them, but Dagonet was at his shoulder, holding him back. Dark eyes pleaded to let him go. The other knight's grip never softened.

The rain nor the creek and slippery rocks slowed the pace of the battle. Rage burned Marcus' face red; his attack was fierce. On the other hand, Arthur's face was calm, but his eyes were afire. Swords clanged together, sparks flew, even in the falling water. When it seemed that Arthur had the upper hand, Marcus landed a forceful kick square to his chest. Arthur fell back into the creek, Excalibur flying from his hand against the bank. He didn't have time to reach it before Marcus stepped on his arm and held his sword to Arthur's throat.

Suddenly Lancelot broke free from Dagonet's restraining grasp and ran down the hill, plowing into Marcus. The boy growled, edging Lancelot on, "You defend a murderer, knight."

"I defend my captain and friend," he shot back, twirling his twin swords in his hands and then making the first move. Arthur rolled out of the way, panting, blood oozing down his side.

The battle in the creek continued, the other knights coming beside Dagonet to watch their brother in arms below, but none interfered. Picking up his sword, Arthur felt the weight becoming more than he could bare. His arms were growing tired, and he leaned on the bank, trying to gather his strength as Lancelot fought his duel for him. Like the clouds above, a storm settled deep inside him.

Lancelot's right blade slashed down across Marcus' chest. The action only made him more angry, his attacks became stronger despite the blood staining the fabric of his tunic. Marcus was fuelled by his rage; he brought his sword down, slicing into Lancelot's leg. Crying out, the knight stumbled.

The same rage that ignited the boy's attack was mirrored in Arthur's face. Gripping his sword until his knuckled turned white, Arthur lunged at Marcus, pushing him away from Lancelot. Marcus' sword flew from his hand, and Excalibur bit into his side. He screamed and charged into Arthur, once again knocking him into the creek, the sword falling from his grasp.

They struggled in the water, turning it red with blood. Marcus reaches for his dagger, pushing it towards Arthur's throat. The Roman's hands grabbed the boy's wrists, pushing against him. But Marcus, with all of his strength, slammed downward. Arthur moved quickly to one side, the dagger only cutting his cheek. The movement left Marcus unbalanced; Arthur made a reach for the dagger and the struggle started again. Lancelot watched from the bank of the creek, his hand clamped over his leg, as the two men rolled in the water, grasping for the dagger, until finally Arthur let out a cry.

Marcus pushed himself up, triumphantly standing over Arthur. The captain grasped at his left arm, the dagger lodged under the armour of his shoulder, the red blood streaming out into the water. A sinister grin painted across his face, Marcus picked up his fallen sword from the creek and advanced on Lancelot. "So now, Arthur Castus, you will have the same pleasure of watching your loved one die before your eyes," he cried out, loud enough for the knights on top of the hill to hear as well. But his mistake was to turn his back.

Pulling the dagger from his arm, Arthur stood again, drenched in water and blood, stalking towards Marcus. His grey eyes were never the like that anyone had seen before, only glimpses in battle of pure rage and darkness. A shadow passed over them. Arthur grabbed Marcus' shoulder and spun him around. Surprised, the boy brought up his guard, but it was too late to defend himself. He pushed the dagger forward until he would go no further. Marcus struggled in his arms, flailing and trying to escape, to no avail.

Lancelot looked up at his friend, unmoving. The dark red liquid poured over Arthur's hands, the body stopped moving, and yet the Roman's look never changed. Arthur gritted his teeth, still trying to push the dagger farther and farther. "Arthur!" Lancelot cried, his voice sounding as if it were as far away as the clouds.

Marcus fell to the creek, the water washing away his blood, and Arthur stood above him, looking down at his still face. The rage was suddenly gone from his eyes, he stood there, blank. The other knights slowly moved down to them, knowing earlier not to interfere with their captain's fight, no matter what the cause.

* * *

The rain had stopped. Villagers dragged blue painted bodies of the Woads off and looked for their own wounded. From the creek bed at the edge of the clearing, the knights returned. Arthur walked stiffly by himself, Tristan supported Lancelot and Dagonet carried Marcus' body.

Victoria looked up as they approached. She was covered in blood, but not her own; she had been helping Antonius with the wounded. Opening her mouth in a silent gasp, she quickly went over to them, taking Marcus' face in her hands and bowing her forehead to meet his in sorrow. When she looked up again, no tears trailed her face.

For a long time she stood, her eyes looking at the ground, not at the face of her son, nor anyone else. The knights left, taking Lancelot to Antonius and the others going to help the villagers with the horrible aftermath of the battle. Arthur remained.

"I knew this day would come," Victoria said softly. "I knew someday you would come and he would do this. I never knew how it would end."

"Victoria…I never meant-.." Arthur started, but stopped as the woman looked up at him.

She looked into his eyes for a long time. "You have taken my husband and my son from me. They were harsh men, they believed in themselves only. You believe in others, you are different. I know that there is no punishment for you because you will carry this on your shoulders for the rest of your life." Victoria paused and looked again towards the village. "We have give sacrifices to the greater good, Arthur. I have given two that I love dearly, as will you. But know this…Marcus killed himself long before he ever threatened you with a sword. Your hands may have committed this, but your heart did not." Turning back to him, Victoria said what Arthur had never expected to come from someone such as her. "You are a hero, Arthur Castus."

He shook his head, "No…no. I am not a hero. I am a man, I am a flawed man, I could never be a hero."

"That is what makes you one," Victoria replied, touching his hand, and then turning to return to help her husband with the wounded. Arthur stood on the field of battle, her words etched in his heart for all eternity.


	6. A Hero's Face

So as I sit here in the cold with the kind of weird foggy orange glow from the street lamp outside my window, eating ice cream of course, I finished Hero. Here you have it, the final chapter. It didn't quite come as smoothly as I originally intended, but I still like it. It's kind of short, I apologize, but I wanted to get this finished so I could work on Myth, which will be the next story following this one. Ok, enjoy!

* * *

Chapter 6 – A Hero's Face

_And the world keeps spinning round  
My world's upside down  
And I wouldn't change a thing  
I've got nothing else to lose  
I lost it all when I found you  
And I wouldn't change a thing  
No, you and I wouldn't change a thing  
__- Spin: Lifehouse_

* * *

The morning after next, they rode home. Victoria had not seen Arthur since the day of the battle. She watched from above the village as they disappeared into the forest. When they were gone, she sighed, walking back down to the house, returning to her life.

Sunlight shined down on them, the storm had broken away. The pace was slow, it was deemed best for all of them. Hadrian's limp had lessened, especially as the day grew warmer and Arthur felt more comfortable riding him. Lancelot was at his side, Dagonet close behind. After the past few days, he had no intention of letting either of them out of his sight. It seemed that the other knights had the same idea. Everyone was relieved to see the grey image of the fort on the hill before them.

* * *

In the next few days, Lancelot found Arthur…elusive. He was unusually quiet; distant. In truth, Lancelot didn't blame him. But after a few days time when there appeared to be no change, his worry increased. He still didn't know the entire story, only bits and pieces he had gathered, which may or may not be true.

Quietly, Lancelot entered Arthur's room. His leg still bothered him some, there was a limp in his walk, but not nearly as bad as it was. The room was dark, only lit by the small fire in the fireplace and what light there was from the window and the sky which had clouded over nearly the moment they came back. Arthur stood there, his hands clasped behind his back, looking outside, up at the clouds. His tunic was laying on the bed. Lancelot noted the bandage still covering his side, the wound that he…he had inflicted. But the bandage which had been wrapped around his upper arm where Marcus had stabbed him was gone. The new wound crossed over the scar that was already there.

Lancelot stepped closer, he knew that Arthur knew he was there, he didn't need to say anything. He stood at his side a long time before either of them spoke.

"Victoria…" Arthur said softly, breaking the silence; his own voice sounding strange in the dark air, "She said I was not to blame." He paused. "She called me a hero. I don't understand, her husband..her son…"

Hesitating at first, Lancelot knew that this would be the moment when he would be able to ask the question burning in his mind since Marcus had first stood up to him. "Arthur…what happened?"

Arthur opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out at first. He cast his grey eyes down at the floor and took a deep breath. "It was a year before I received this command. The Woads had attacked, they had been given information by one of the farmers. Marcus' father. I was ordered to take him back to the fort to stand trial but he attacked me before we left and..I killed him," Arthur explained slowly. "I didn't mean to, I hadn't meant for any of this to happen. This scar.." he trailed off lightly touched the healed skin next to the new wound. "Marcus saw it happen. When I saw him standing there staring at me…" Arthur lifted his face up again, his eyes closed, "Lancelot, all I could picture was my father. He died in battle, but..I was around the same age and now I had done the same that had been done to me, to someone else. God knows I was sorry for it, I've asked for forgiveness thousands of times."

"He attacked you, Arthur, you were defending yourself."

"I know that!" He sighed. "I know that…It doesn't make it any easier."

Lancelot slowly placed one arm across Arthur's broad shoulders and looked at him with gentle brown eyes. "And Victoria calls you a hero. You are a hero. That's just it, even a hero isn't perfect. We all carry darkness inside of us, shadows of these things. A price must be paid for greatness, and this is it. But I know you, you're strong. Remember it, Arthur, but do not let it dominate your thoughts," the younger knight said, gently squeezing his friend's good shoulder.

A smile breaking through onto his face, Arthur touched his forehead to Lancelot's, an action that they often shared in moments like these, unashamed of their closeness. "A hero cannot stand alone, he has to have someone there to support him because he is only human."

"Oh, so now I'm finally appreciated," Lancelot replied sarcastically, returning the smile.

Arthur laughed, his dark mood broken. "No, you've been appreciated for a long time," he said wrapping his arms around Lancelot's shoulders and pulling him into his embrace. The darkness seemed to wash away and in the window, the clouds melted off, revealing the sunlight which cast on the floor about them.

_finis_


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